


Write Me

by 0330



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Books, M/M, man i love books, so many books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0330/pseuds/0330
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac finds a book in the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Isaac always found himself sleeping in the highest places possible. He’d sleep on top of rooftops, bookcases, and occasionally, the top of an abandoned bus so he could gaze at the stars at night. Maybe if he was up high, no one could hurt him. Maybe if he was up high, he’d be far enough away from his problems. It didn’t matter that he was a werewolf now and could probably tear most things apart. It was nice for Isaac to know that where he slept, he’d be up high, detached, safe. But not today. Today, he woke up curled up in a ball on the floor surrounded by bookcases at the local library. Isaac liked the library. It offered stability in the written word. Age old tales written by geniuses and read by thousands upon thousands of people. It comforted him that the books he held in his hands were the same books that a girl in the 1900s might have read. Then that girl grew up and created her own life story, and her story was read by the people she loved and encountered, and those people created even more stories. Yes, Isaac loved drowning himself in good literature. But today, he was not surrounded by the familiar leather bound classics that he loved. Instead, he somehow found himself surrounded by romance novels. He was pretty sure no one ever visited these last two rows for two reasons: embarrassment at being caught back here, and the poorly written porn. He mused what kind of person would read these kinds of novels. Certainly not the girl growing up in the 1900s.  
  
Quietly, Isaac got up from his position and stretched his long limbs. He gathered up his papers and books, realizing that instead of doing homework, he’d accidentally fallen asleep. Isaac figured since he hadn’t done anything productive, it might not make any difference if he just browsed for books. He slung his bag over his shoulder and wandered through the fiction shelves, looking for titles that he hadn’t read or authors he hadn’t heard of. Finally, he stopped in front of the M’s, examining one author: Haruki Murakami. Delicately, long fingers selected one thick hardcover from the shelf. The title was _1Q84_ , and Isaac flipped through, reading a few lines before deciding it was a good choice. He glanced at the author’s other titles, and his blue eyes paused at an unmarked book. There was no title on it, only the black spine. Curious, Isaac pulled the suspicious book out. It looked more like a journal than anything, and in fact, it probably was. Confirming his guess, he flipped open the cover and on the first page, in black script was, _Hey. I need you to help me. If you can’t help me, just put the book back on the shelf, but if you can, flip the page._  
  
How was Isaac supposed to help if he didn’t even know what he was supposed to help with? He flipped the page, confusion furrowing his brows.  
  
 _Tell me a story of unrequited love. It has to be personal to you. If you’ve never fallen in love, or your love was requited, please put the book back. Don’t lie to me, because it’ll only hurt both of us. Once you’re done, slide the book under the bookshelf where_ The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle lies._  
  
Isaac stared at the words scrawled on the page. Unrequited love? The only thing he could think about was his father and the many times Isaac thought maybe, just _maybe_ , his father would change and love him. So he sat down and wrote. And wrote and wrote and wrote. And when he was finished, he placed the book underneath the shelf with Sherlock and left the library, more confused than when he entered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. i suck at writing. sorry. also these chapters will be super short because 1. i can't keep focus 2. it makes the story seem longer when it's not. 3. i'm lame  
> um yeah. also i can't write canonically so theSE CHARACTERS ARE PROBABLY HORRIBLY PORTRAYED I'M SO SO SORRY.  
> uh... please comment??? tell me what you think........


	2. Chapter 2

If Scott really thought about it, he could associate almost every exciting or unfortunate event in his life to Stiles. How did he become a werewolf? An adventure, led by Stiles. How he started dating Allison? Stiles thought of some pretty good date ideas. And now that Allison broke up with him? Stiles suggested this insane idea.  
  
“Dude. Where else are you going to get help from? I mean joining a self help group isn’t your thing, and you’re obviously not taking any advice from me or Derek or.. or Jackson or anyone!” Stiles was gesturing wildly. “So this is the best thing. Trust me!”  
  
“Stiles, when I trust you, bad things happen,” answered Scott, already unlocking his bike and getting ready to leave.  
  
“No. What are you talking about?” Stiles laughed it off. “Come on. What’s the worst thing that’ll happen? Someone finds your book but can’t help you? There’s really, like, no risk here, Scott.”  
  
“Well, what should I write in it then?” Scott asked frantically. “I feel like I’m in... Kindergarten or something with all this writing and pen pal stuff!”  
  
“Come to my house at six, and we’ll brainstorm, okay? I can’t keep living with a mopey best friend okay? It’s depressing,” Stiles said while hopping into his beat up Jeep and drove off.  
  
Scott just stood there in disbelief for a while before finally getting on his own bike.  
  


\---

  
They decided to ask questions about love, much to Scott’s dismay, and the first was, “Tell me a story of unrequited love.” How obvious can you get? But reluctantly Scott did agree to leave the book behind in, can you believe it, a library. A place where anyone can go to. Stiles suggested it because you never know who you may encounter at a library, but there is a given: the person there most likely is learned and well versed. So, selecting a random author (his name was Miyazaki or something Japanese like that) Stiles wedged the unassuming book between two of this Japanese person’s novels.  
  
“And now we wait!” Stiles declared before Scott could clap a hand over Stiles’s mouth.  
  
“We’re in a library, Stiles!” Scott hissed. “And why did you pick this guy? He seems like the most obscure author ever!”  
  
“Just because you haven’t heard of him doesn’t mean there’s not someone out there who likes his books. Besides, have you flipped through this book, _1Q84_? It seems like he writes some deep crap. Heck, maybe you should read his stuff too.” Stiles replied, offering said nine hundred page book to Scott, who brushed it away. “We’ll come back two days from now. You did say underneath the Sherlock book, right?  
  
“Yeah,” Scott said, distractedly.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. “Look buddy, you need some confidence okay. This is going to work. And even if it doesn’t, at least we tried okay?” Scott just nodded. “Come on,” Stiles said, before dragging the other teen out of the library.  
  


\---

  
Two days later, the boys did, indeed, go visit the library.  
  
The whole place smelled of nostalgia. They remembered the times when they didn’t have to visit the library to study or find required books for class. They remembered the times when Sheriff Stilinski would come here with Stiles and Scott and read to them stories of fish with multicoloured scales and a book called Goodnight Moon. They remembered coming here for summer reading, and how Scott would grab a ton of books but read only a few of them. Scott sighed before Stiles dragged him out of his memories and into the adult section, where Scott’s book was (hopefully) located.  
  
“Okay, let’s start out slow. First, check the Muraka-who guy to see if the book’s still there,” Stiles said, sneaking around the shelves. He covered his eyes with his hands. “I can’t look, Scott. You go check!”  
  
Scott just sighed and pushed Stiles out of the way before checking out the shelf. Not only was his book gone, but one of Murakami’s books was gone too -- the nine hundred page one.  
  
“Well?” Stiles cracked open his eyes before realizing the same things Scott realized and rushed to his friend’s side. “Dude! Dude it’s not here!” Stiles exclaimed in joy loudly, receiving a curious look from a nearby librarian who was shelving books.  
  
“How many times do I have to remind you that we’re in a library?” Scott seethed through his teeth.  
  
“Who knows? Let’s check out ol’ sir Doyle,” Stiles said, jumping up and practically running to the “D” shelf. Stiles got there before Scott and, remembering Scott’s advice, barely contained his excitement and just jumped up and down, like a kid during Christmas. Scott retrieved the black book from underneath the shelf. He thumbed the pages until he saw the wall of text answering his question.  
  
“Wow, whoever this was, they really liked to write, huh?” Stiles said, peeking over Scott’s shoulder.  
  
“Dude! Personal space!” Scott clapped the book closed. “If they wrote that much, they probably wrote it only for one person, and it probably has a lot of personal stuff in it.”  
  
“Aw is this where you’re leaving your best bro behind?” Stiles asked, disbelief on his face. Though it was true, the journal was meant for two people only, and unfortunately, Stiles wasn’t one of those two people.  
  
“You know you helped me make this journal for personal reasons, okay. It’s just me and... whoever this is now,” Scott said, stowing away the book in his backpack. He’d read it later.  
  
Stiles sighed. “Fine dude, but let me know how it goes okay. I hope whoever that is will help you.”  
  
“They will,” Scott promised.  
  


\---

  
_I lived with it all my life._  
  
 _I’ve always lived with this hope: one of a young child. I hoped and I hoped that he would love me back. I loved naively. I loved without abandon. I loved with expectation. And that was my undoing. No matter what I did, he did not love me back._  
  
 _The thing is is that he should have loved me. He theoretically should have meant a lot to me, and I theoretically should have meant a lot to him. But he only abused me. He threw my feelings on the ground, and shattered my hopes under the crushed glass already resting on the floor, their sharp edges about to cause more damage later. I don’t remember a day when I didn’t fear him._  
  
 _As I grew older, I realized that my hope was pathetic. I was living a hopeless loveless life. There was no hope for the two of us. Just like my childlike feelings, he had crushed everything. Who could I go to? Who could I cry to? I cried to myself, because I didn’t have anyone. Every tear that fell was a regret, a mistake, a disappointment. I was a disappointment._  
  
 _I courted a maiden named Suicide. I sang her love songs and she was a much gentler lover than he. When he yelled, she offered relief. When he stacked up bricks of uselessness in my heart, creating a fortress, she offered an escape. She was my escape. I wrote her love letters, and she promised she would make sure the right people would read them. I was in love. I truly was._  
  
 _She was my lover for many years, but again, I was afraid of her. It always seemed that her love was fake. I would dote on her. I would kiss her and tell her she looked lovely that day. After all, red really did suit her. And red was really all she wore. It decorated her wrists in thin lovely bracelets. She wore red around her neck with a great ruby pendant dangling above her chest. She told me many people thought red really suited her, and I thought so too._  
  
 _But in the end, I realized my love was not returned. Just like he, I had lost hope in her. Though comfort as she may, she began to consume my life. I thought about her constantly, when she didn’t think about me at all. Realizing that I was slipping away, she left me, without another word, the red of her dress flapping in the wind as she disappeared. I didn’t know what to think, other than to return to him._  
  
 _And return I did, though he still did not love me. I was broken. I had no one. I did not have my lovely mistress, and I did not have him. I was utterly alone in my broken universe. I cradled my pieces and tried to glue them together. This unrequited love, I could not deal with it. And so, I dreamed the numbness away. I dreamed of a world where I was wanted. I dreamed of not being afraid. I dreamed of a beautiful sky and people who loved me back. I dreamed and I dreamed and I dreamed._  
  
 _And one day, it came true. Like a pebble thrown in a pond, something seemingly little changed my life. He moved on. He no longer bothered me, and nor did she. They left me to move on, to piece back together my existence. I am new to this world, a kind world that may accept me, and wipe away every tear that falls. A world that will accept me for who I am, no matter my history and my failings. A world who will not only piece together my existence but also my forgotten dreams too. A world that will kindle my yearnings and give me peace._  
  
 _So I tell you, there is hope. Even if your love is not returned, there is hope that new life and new love will find its way to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i said short chapters, i was lying.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t tell you what that person wrote!” Scott exclaimed the next morning when Stiles pestered him at his locker. “It’s supposed to be private.”  
  
“Okay but just tell me, was it heartbreaking or was it heartwarming?” Stiles persisted.   
  
“It was... Come on Stiles. You’re just cheating now,” Scott said before turning away and shutting his locker.  
  
“Whoa, there, big guy. You just paused and turned away, so I’m guessing heartbreaking. How sad was it? Did you shed big manly wolf tears?” Stiles had to practically jog to keep up with Scott. They arrived in the Chemistry class and Scott sat down, taking out his binder and pretending to study his nonexistent notes. “Are you kidding me, man? You’re going to ignore me now?” Stiles huffed before eventually giving up and going to his own seat.  
  
It was a relatively uneventful day at school other than the fact that the identity of the other writer plagued Scott the whole day. In English he jotted down, _It seems that we both need help._ And then erased it. At lunch, he quickly scrawled, _We should help each other._ And then erased it. Before practice, he scribbled, _I’m curious about you now._ And then erased it. He gave up. There were more important things to worry about, such as Derek calling a meeting before the full moon.  
  
After practice, Scott tried to do some of his homework before giving up and staring at the neat, thin text underneath his question. He tried to forget about the meeting Derek was calling and instead he touched the paper, as if by osmosis, he could pick up whoever wrote the story. He didn’t even know if it was a guy or a girl. The handwriting could have been either. He and Stiles had masked their scent when writing in it, and apparently so did the other mysterious writer. There still was a very faint scent, if Scott tried hard enough. He could detect Stiles’s distinctive teenage boy plus cologne smell. He could detect his own try hard but not hard enough cucumber rain scent. And underneath that, he could detect something else. Something earthy and warm and faintly reminiscent of vanilla and burning wood. Still though, it wasn’t enough. He was still curious. He imagined who it could be. Whoever it was, Scott hoped he could learn about them.  
  
He read over the whole story again. The writing was literally one giant metaphor. _As I grew older, I realized that my hope was pathetic. I was living a hopeless loveless life. There was no hope for the two of us._ Who was the writer talking about? It seemed like someone who was not romantically loved, but something else. A more profound love of some sort? Scott sighed and then jumped at a harsh knocking on his window.   
  
Pushing the window open with a loud creak, Stiles entered Scott’s room. “Dude are you going to Derek’s meeting? We’re already kind of late,” Stiles said, before eyeing the black notebook in Scott’s hands. “Got any progress on that?”  
  
“No. Nothing,” Scott said distractedly, before laying the black notebook on his bed and following Stiles out the window. “Why don’t we just use the front door? You know my mom likes you right?”  
  
“She likes me _sometimes_ ,” Stiles corrected before changing the subject. “So you really got nada on who wrote it? No scent no nothing? Even the handwriting?”  
  
“Well... There was this vanilla scent. I’m not even sure if it was vanilla. I mean. It was really faint and I found it under your scent,” Scott mused.   
  
“So it was a girl?” Stiles asked, suddenly interested.   
  
“That’s not what I was saying,” Scott sighed.   
  
“Name a guy you know who wears vanilla,” Stiles said.   
  
“I don’t know! Danny wears Armani,” Scott exclaimed. He himself didn’t actually wear anything but generic deodorant. “We’ll figure this out later.” They drove to Derek’s obscure excuse for a living space. It really was a mystery how he hadn’t been found out already. He was already housing Isaac, who should really be given a proper place to live, not to mention the rest of his gang who basically spent all waking hours there, though they did have much more pleasant living quarters. The whole warehouse just emanated a very sketchy vibe.  
  
Most of the pack was already there. Scott just kind of stood next to Stiles who kind of stood next to Derek, who glared at both of them. “What?” Stiles stage whispered to Derek, who broke the glare to address the small group. He gave a long speech about being careful and controlling the inner wolf. Boyd and Erica looked mildly bored, and Isaac was staring off into the distance. Suddenly, the other teen broke his staring contest with the wall and instead looked directly into Scott’s eyes. Scott flinched and shifted his gaze back to Derek. It was almost as if Isaac knew Scott was thinking about him. Cautiously, he looked back, and Isaac was still staring at him. The other boy raised an eyebrow in confusion, as if he was expecting Scott to say something. Scott just shook his head slightly and looked away. Hanging around a pack that wasn’t even his was really weird.   
  
After the meeting, Isaac approached Scott. The curly haired teen looked tired, his shoulders drooping and lavender circles underlining his cerulean eyes. He smiled when he saw Scott though, his eyes crinkling and his lips twisting in that sideways smirk. “So are you joining the pack for good?” he asked.  
  
“Uh, I don’t know,” Scott said. He really didn’t want to join Derek’s pack, but with the Alpha pack in town, he didn’t have a choice. It was inevitable that Scott would join, but like the huge amount of homework sitting on his desk, Scott decided to put it in the back of his mind. For now, he just came to Derek’s little meetings to get in the know.   
  
“You know you’d be benefitting mostly everyone if you did. You’d be protecting your mother, Stiles, and your other friends,” Isaac said. “If you were by yourself, the Alphas would go after you first since you have a lot to lose by yourself.”  
  
“Yeah. I know. I just. Just wait, okay, Isaac? I know you understand, but, I still have mixed feelings,” Scott said, flustered. He ran his fingers through his hair, before Stiles invited himself into the conversation and asked Scott if he was ready to leave. The two boys left and Scott glanced ruefully over his shoulder.   
  
He really didn’t know what he should do. About his life, about the pack, about the mysterious writer in the notebook. He just needed some stability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops long chapter again. i plot out these chapters with what i want to happen and then everything explodes into these huge gigantic chapters and i have to cut them up and auwoiejfkhlak4jlak3jkln  
> also i'm making a whole lotta assumptions because season three isn't really out yet so we dont' know much abot hwats abbout to go downl aksdjglkaj i cant' tyep


End file.
